An online journal of the nightly (and daily) nonsense endured by a (former) bouncer at two of New York's most popular nightclubs.

Monday, July 30, 2007

Background

I think I have to become something of a self-promoter now, starting this week, because the book hits stores on August 14th. This is somewhat uncomfortable for me, because a self-promoter is something I’m decidedly not. Since I want the book to do at least fairly well, however, I’m supposing it would probably be a good idea to launch my big time marketing campaign right here on this site, where things got started in the first place.

First off, you can pre-order the book on my Amazon page if you want. If you’ve already done so, we’re probably related and I’ve already thanked you, so I’ll skip that part. Instead, for the benefit of those of you new to this site, I’ll try to explain what’s been going on here for the past three-plus years. This post will be fairly short because I don’t have loads of time at the moment, but I’ll write significantly more on the subject as the week goes on.

I’ll be posting new developments both here and on my Myspace page if anyone gives a rat’s ass. I have a few New York appearances in the works, and I’ll announce them soon on both sites.

Four years ago, things weren’t going very well for me financially. I was trying to figure out what the fuck I wanted to do with my life while living way above my means in an apartment I could barely afford -- with the requisite $500 Olds Cutlass parked out front. My landlord was a douche who’d only call me at 8:30 on Sunday mornings, and only to complain. Never to help. I hated my life.

“Robert, I came by on Friday afternoon but I couldn’t get into your apartment. I noticed you changed the deadbolt and didn’t give me a key.”

“Yeah, I did. Want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re supposed to tell me when you need to get into my apartment, and you never do. This way, by changing the lock, I can hear about it before you need to get in instead of after.”

Everything sucked back then, relatively speaking. All I ever did was work, but I had absolutely nothing to show for it because I wasn’t making jack shit due to a brutal combination of shitty decision making, poor career choices and a lifetime of not living up to anyone’s expectations. Or my own potential. Take your pick. You reach a certain age and it simply doesn’t matter anymore, because everyone’s sick and tired of offering their guidance. If you haven’t “gotten it” by you’re mid-twenties, you’re not getting it, period.

All I knew was that I needed more cash immediately, so I called “Jim Hughes,” a family friend who owned a couple of bars in my old neighborhood. I’d done bouncing work for Jim off and on since high school, but hadn’t spoken to him about a job in over ten years. This was because I’d already soured on bar work once before, and never really planned on going back. Bar money was just as green as any other kind, however, so I decided to take advantage of one of the few unburned bridges I’d left behind.

What I really hadn’t expected was an offer to work in Manhattan, but since Jim’s place was about to go out of business, that’s what he came up with for me. My timing, for better or for worse, was perfect.

So, just like that, three days after I decided I needed a second job, I was on my way into the city to stand on a box. As I’d eventually come to find out, things tend to move rather quickly in the nightclub business…